


the deviant and the chocolate smuggler

by orphan_account



Series: trans & queer themes [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: AU, Angst, Chaptered, FTM Mikey, Fluff, LGBT, MTF Gerard, Multi, Secret Relationship, Trans, Trans Character, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, also there is a Death so be careful, conversion therapy, ftm ryan, nonbinary josh, read this because i did a fuckton of research, really dark but also hella fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8893921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Greta made a mistake and now she and Mikey are in hell, biding their time until Greta's eighteen and they can escape to the city and live out their dreams. But there's light even in the darkest of times, appearing in the shape of the boy named Frank who somehow smuggles chocolate into the facility and gives it to Greta as a (equivocally odd) way to show his affection.In short: identity, romance, and community converge in a story about one of the most controversial practices in the USA.  Updates every day . on hiatus idfk anymore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My hope for this fic is to educate people about what happens in conversion therapy.
> 
> hope you enjoy. :))

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a handful of mistakes lead to a journey to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello and welcome to TDATCS! in case you haven't figured it out, Gerard is Greta in this story. she is MTF trans. hope that clears things up just in case.

Greta's scissors hover over Mikey's hair, poised and ready to cut away his brown locks.

"Are you sure?" she asks, one more time, hands hesitant.

"Yes," he hisses. He's standing in front of the tall mirror on Greta's door, with a sheet around his shoulders. Greta put a towel on the floor so that the carpet isn't covered and hair and she has a broom nearby in case she does end up needing to clean up.

She's braided Mikey's hair into three sections, so that they can collect and donate it when they're done.

"Okay," she breathes. She braces herself and snips.

One braid falls to the floor.

Then two, and three.

Greta lets out a breath that she didn't know she was holding. She looks at Mikey's face in the mirror.

Mikey is the master of the pokerface. He very rarely shows emotion and if he does, it's usually Greta who makes his impassive expression break.

Right now, his smile has widened into a beam. It's like looking at a ray of fucking sunshine, Greta thinks, and she grins too.

"Keep going," Mikey says. Greta snips more hair in agreement.

Hair falls to the ground, and with it, Mikey's femininity: for Greta isn't just cutting away his locks, she's also cutting away the dysphoric thoughts that keep him up at night, the nausea he feels when he's addressed as Matilda.

It's a disgusting name to him, carrying the weight of his parents bearing down on him. It represents the box that he's been forced into his entire life, with a messy Venus sign painted on the top.

The abrupt snips of Greta's scissors begin to be rhythmic, calming sounds. She walks around Mikey, eyeing his jagged ends.

When she's finished, she faces Mikey, blocking his view of the mirror, and steps back. A smile grows on her face. Mikey gestures for her to move, and she consents, watching his face carefully.

By now, she knows his face, and she eyes it to make sure that he isn't terrified or anything.

Thankfully, he's quite the contrary.

The look of elation grows and he leans over to Greta and hugs him, letting his sheet fall to the floor.

Greta wraps her arms around him.

"Thank you so much," he says tearfully, and Greta notices that his eyes are wet.

"You look really masculine," Greta says.

"Thanks." Mikey grins. "Can I wear your clothes?"

"Of course." Greta sits on the bed while Mikey looks through her closet. He picks out some baggy jeans and a leather jacket. He stands in front of the mirror and grins.

Greta smiles sadly at him, then looks down at her hands.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Mikey asks.

Greta looks up, startled. "Oh, nothing."

Mikey glares at her sternly. She sighs.

"Okay, fine. I'm just frustrated because you're much farther along your transition than I am. And it seems like it's much easier for you, you know? Like if I wore skirts, Mom would go insane. But you can wear pants and shit and it's fine."

"Do you want to wear some of my stuff?" Mikey suggests. "They won't be home for another two hours."

"Fuck!" Greta cries suddenly. Mikey blinks.

"We didn't even think about how they would react to your haircut!" she says. "Fuck, they'll go batshit. They're religious freakos, Mikey! They'll send you off!"

"I thought about it," Mikey says. "It's fine. I can deal."

"No, you can't! They'll be so mad, i swear–"

"I can take it!"

"But you–" Greta sees the determination in his eyes. "Fine. Okay. Let's just get on with it."

Mikey nods. Greta follows him to his room. Mom bought him a collection of skirts a while ago to encourage his femininity. They'd collected dust in the closet until Mikey broke them out for Greta.

She puts on a sheer red skirt that matches her hair, and a Metallica T-shirt. She tops it off with some black thrift store heels and light makeup.

"You look good," says Mikey, looking up from his phone. Blur is playing from his speaker.

"Thanks," says Greta, posing a little.

Suddenly, a knock echoes from downstairs.

"Did you invite anyone over?" Greta asks.

"Nah," Mikey says. "Maybe it's Lindsey."

"That's probably it," Greta agrees. Not bothering to take off her girly clothes (Lindsey has been the one of the Ways' few friends for years and he knows she's trans), she heads downstairs. Lindsey knocks again. "Coming," Greta calls.

She approaches the door and pulls it open. "Hey, Lynz, what's—"

Her eyes go wide in shock and her mouth hangs open.

Her mother is equally surprised. She's standing on the threshold with her purse over her shoulder.

"I got off early," she says slowly, "but forgot my house key. And I come home to see…"

She steps into the house, staring at Greta, who cowers into the corner.

"Gee?" Mikey calls from upstairs.

"Mikey, no," Greta says, but it's too late. Mikey is standing at the top of the stairs. He sees his mom and panics.

"Matilda!" Mom hollers. "Come downstairs right now."

Mikey obeys. He walks slowly down the stairs and stands close to Greta. Greta wraps a protective arm around him.

"So this so what you do when I'm gone," their mother says coldly. "Dress up like fucking trannies." She turns to Greta. "What the hell are you wearing? Is that makeup? Are you trying to be a special snowflake? You're a fucking faggot, aren't you. I love you, Gerard, but I can't let you do this. Look at what a horrible role model you've been to Matilda."

Greta shrinks away from her icy gaze.

"Matilda, what the HELL did you do to your hair?! Gerard put you up to this, didn't he!" Mom turns to Greta again.

She looks away for a second, muttering something under her breath. She looks back at them.

"We can fix this," says. "It'll be okay. We can convince you to be normal."

"What do you mean?" Mikey says.

"There's a place nearby here…run by the church…they can fix you…"

Mom's eyes are staring vacantly at the wall.

"Mom," Greta says, "we were just playing around—we're not trans or anything–"

"Yes you are!" Mom snaps. "I should have seen the signs…it's all your father's fault…we'll fix you…"

"Mom…" Mikey says worriedly.

"Go get some clothes," Mom says. "We can go now. Don't even think of bringing your phones."

"Mom!…"

"GO!"

Greta runs upstairs. Tears are flowing freely down her face at this point. Mikey follows her, looking troubled.

"Gee, what's going on?"

"Conversion therapy, Mikey. She's taking us to conversion therapy."

Mikey's eyes widen. His breathing quickens. Greta can tell it's the start of a panic attack.

"Shh," she says, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. We'll be together. It's only a few months until I'm eighteen."

"Then what?" Mikey asks hollowly.

"We'll go to the city. Live with Lindsey, I don't know. I'll sell my comics. Work at Starbucks. We'll figure it out then, okay?"

Mikey nods quietly.

"Grab your stuff, Greta says. "Including your phone. Put money in the case. Break the stitches on your backpack and slip it in there."

Mikey nods again. "To prepare. I understand."

"Go get your stuff. We can do this."

Greta knows the reality of conversion therapy. She's read about it plenty, especially with the recent events in politics.

And she's fucking terrified. But she also knows that they can't keep her after she turns eighteen.

It's odd, planning to leave before they even get there. But Lindsey, who's a runaway, taught her a lot in case something like this happened.

Lindsey has foresight, dammit. Greta knew that this was going to happen eventually. She should have waited until she was eighteen. But she was careless. And Mikey, too.

Now her mother is sending her away to prison, and there's nothing Greta can say.

The best thing that she can do is have hope. She has to do it for Mikey.

Because they can get out of this, right?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the outlook is dim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ people who have like 10k hits. how do you do it. how do u,,,

It's a crisp, clear day. There isn't a cloud in the sky and the gentle breeze makes leaves scatter everywhere.

Earlier, Mom made Greta officially drop out of school, since she is over sixteen. However, she had to do a lot of paperwork for Mikey, since he's only barely fourteen—three years younger than Greta. The paperwork tired her out quite a bit, so she doesn't have the energy to yell at Greta and Mikey.

Greta is standing in the front yard, head tilted up towards the sky, breathing it all in: the smells of autumn, the fresh air. She hums "Mr. Brightside," the breeze swallowing the lyrics.

She knows that this could be the last time she's free for a while.

" _Open up my eager eyes_ ," she sings to the sky. She melts into the afternoon.

"GERARD!" her mother yells, pulling Greta out of her musings. She looks over and sees her mother standing next to the car.

•••

The drive to the church is silent. Mikey and Greta sit in the backseat, heads hung, staring at their hands.

Suddenly Greta has an idea. She reaches over to the side of the car door and starts tapping Morse code.

 _Coming out of my cage_ , she taps slowly, while Mikey listens intently. The two learned Morse code after watching a movie about spies.

Mikey grins. He moves his own hand and starts to tap. _And I've been doing just—_

"Stop that insolent tapping," Mom snaps. The siblings sober up.

The car pulls up outside of a church. Next to it is a small office building with a sign next to it that simply reads "THERAPY."

It's pretty out of the way. It's surrounded mostly by trees, with a small neighborhood a mile or so away.

Despite that, it seems to be a pretty popular church. Probably because it's the only one for miles.

Greta and Mikey clamber out of the car and onto the grass. Their mother grabs them by the arm, clutching them tightly as if she expects them to try to run a way right here and now.

They walk up to the front of the therapy building and open the door. Mikey hides behind Greta, scared.

The inside of the building is incredibly bland. The walls are beige, the carpet is ugly blue, and generic waiting room chairs line the walls. There's a coffee table littered with Christian magazines.

Across from the door is a desk, behind which sits a petite woman with pale skin and graying red hair.

"Names?" she says.

"Gerard and Matilda Way," Mom says. Mikey makes a face.

The lady messes around with the computer as Mom hands in some paperwork. When they're done, the lady says, "This way, please. You can call me Mrs. Janine."

Greta and Mikey follow her down a hallway, hurriedly to keep up with her brisk strides. "Can you room us together?" Greta asks hopefully.

"We have same sex roommates. And your mother requested that we didn't put you in the same room. You're lucky, though. You'll be in the same corridor."

"Oh."

"Your roommate will be Brendon Urie. Matilda, your roommate will be Georgia Ross."

Mikey clenched his jaw, but nodded.

 

Mrs. Janine stops at a door with a wooden numbers nailed onto it that say "10." She knocks sharply. There's some scuffling inside and the door is opened by a boy with dark hair and full lips.

"This is Brendon," Mrs. Janine says, jerking her thumb towards him. "He's your roommate. Room rules are curfew at ten—no visits, lights, or open doors from then until five AM. Beds must be made. Your clothes are in the closet. No inappropriate activities with others."

Brendon smirks slightly at that. Greta wonders how many of the kids here have ~affairs~ with each other. It is, after all, a group of teenagers, most of whom are some level of gay.

"You can wander around the grounds all you want, but you're not allowed past the property line." Mrs. Janine narrows her eyes. "And don't even try to run away. There's nowhere to go."

Greta shrinks a little. Brendon leads her into the room as Mikey walks away with Mrs. Janine.

The room is small, with a bunk bed on one side, a closet on the other, and a desk in the middle. The walls are plain white and there's a window above the desk.

Greta can tell that Brendon uses the lower bunk because it's covered in magazines and books.

"You're at the top bunk," Brendon says needlessly. "So what's your name? And why are you here? I'm Brendon. I'm bi and I have ADHD, so naturally my parents had a pretty hard time handling me." He grins and bounces on his toes.

Greta blinks. "I'm Greta—no wait. Gerard."

She sighs.

"I'm MTF and pan."

"Cool," Brendon says. "So you're new, right? I've been here for a year—3 sessions. I had a roommate for the first two, but i've been on my own for the last few months. Do you know anyone here yet?"

"Uh, my brother Mikey—I mean, my sister Matilda—is here and he's rooming with Georgia Ross, I think."

"Ryan?" Brendon perks up. "He's my best friend!" He winks and Greta isn't sure what to make of it. "So he and your sibling are both trans guys?"

Greta nodded. "I thought it'd be super uptight here, but it seems kind of lax."

Brendon shrugs. "Only with me, honestly. I don't give a fuck about what I say. It gets me in trouble." He laughs. "But I'm pretty damn used to that."

"Anyways," Brendon continues, "we'll have group intros in a few minutes. Put your backpack in the closet and put on your clothes."

Greta looks in the closet. Four outfits are hung on one side. There's a white T-shirt, a red T-shirt, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a blue long-sleeves shirt. There are two pairs of black trousers and two pairs of jeans.

"Wow, nice of them to give us some fucking variety," Greta mutters. Brendon laughs from across the room and Greta blushes.

She changes as far away from Brendon as she can, but the boy has no concept of privacy and compliments her ass. Her face goes bright red.

She's wearing briefs and a bralette, which she decides to discard because it would be seen as feminine. Brendon seems cool, but she doesn't know him to well yet, and she's scared he might report her.

They leave the room for group intros and Greta meets up with Mikey in the hallway. He looks pretty sullen, largely due to the fact that he's been forced into a skirt.

Brendon is talking to a kid that Greta assumes is Ryan. He's petite and has brown, wavy hair. He's quite pretty, Greta thinks, laughing to herself a little.

There are two other kids on in the corridor: Pete, a broad-shouldered boy with black hair, and Frank, a short, bouncy boy with a gorgeous face.

Greta realizes she's the only girl. She sighs.

She follows everyone else down the hall until they reach a large conference room. There are already several other kids there. Greta sits in between Ryan and a crass-looking girl with blue hair.

A tall man with white hair and dark sin enters. He's wearing a church T-shirt and a blazer—certainly an interesting combination.

"I am Dr. Frank," he says. "I'm the director of this program. Welcome to St. Rose Church's Conversion Therapy program. Here, you will go through steps to erase your problems and learn to contribute appropriately to society."

 _You're not doing a very good job of that,_ Greta thinks irritably.

"We'll start by introducing ourselves. State your name, how many sessions you have attended, and what your goal is. We'll start with Georgia."

Next to Greta, Ryan began to speak.

"I'm Georgia. This is my second session here. I attended another camp for a few years, but I lost control and cut my hair and was transferred here. My goal is to please my parents."

Ryan speaks in a robotic tone. He's giving them exactly what they want: an admission of mistakes and a solid purpose. But his eyes are dead and his posture in drooping.

He must have been through this a lot, Greta realizes.

She suddenly realizes that Dr. Frank's eyes are boring into her, along with the rest of her group. She sits up with a start, face reddening.

"Uh, I-I'm Gerard, and this is my first session. My goal is to, um, embrace my masculinity."

She cringes.

Dr. Frank nods. "Next."

The blue-haired girl next to Greta sits up. "I'm Ashley. This is my second session. I'm bisexual."

"Ashley!" Dr. Frank barks. "We've spoken about this!"

Ashley glowers.

"Georgia, what do we say about labels?"

Ryan stands up. "Labels create a false sense of community. They demonstrate that an abnormality is something common enough to warrant its own name."

"Perfect," Dr. Frank says.

Ashley's eyes are shooting daggers.

"Now try again."

"Okay," Ashley says through gritted teeth. "I'm Ashley, and I'm fundamentally attracted to both men and women. I want to be normal."

She obviously means nothing that she's saying, but Dr. Frank moves on.

"She'll be here a while," a voice mutters. Greta looks around for a second, confused, but then realizes that it was Ryan. His face is still stone cold. He seems to have the innate ability to talk without moving his mouth. She blinks at him.

He casts a glance at her, not sparing her a smile before he focuses back on the group.

It takes about half an hour to go through everyone. One girl who has hair bleached on one side like Cruella de Vil starts sobbing in the middle of her turn and Dr. Frank looks very awkward as he tries to comfort her. It draws a slight snort of laughter from Ryan.

When it ends, everyone goes up to their rooms until dinner time.

Greta sits in the desk chair and Brendon is on his bed reading a book. She decides to ask him a question that's been nagging her for a while.

"Ryan seems like he's been through this before. It's like they've, y'know, converted him already. Even if he still calls himself Ryan, he's all obedient and shit. Why is he still here?" Greta asks.

Brendon glints. "He's a rebel behind closed doors," he says, winking.

Greta starts. "Are you and he—?"

"Yeah," says Brendon, looking dreamily at the ceiling. "Fuck yeah. He's damn hot."

Greta widens her eyes. That wasn't the question she meant to ask, but she got an answer and she decides to change the subject.

"What do they do to you?" she asks in a small voice.

Brendon sits up and sobers immediately.

"Well," he says, "for me, it's different. I don't know to much about what they do to trans people. But for me…"

He looks away.

"You don't have to talk about it," Greta says quickly.

"No," Brendon says. "You should know.

"Most days, they do one-on-one with me. Talk about the causes of my problems. But some days, they do other stuff. Sometimes they sit me in front of gay porn and…they give me…a tiny shock. Or a spritz of water to the face. Sometimes, when I do something bad, they put me in the White Room. It's basically solitary. And they make me pray. For a whole day sometimes."

Brendon is shaking. He looks at the floor.

Greta immediately regrets asking him anything. She makes a small sound of distress and hurries to sit beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry," she mumbles. "I didn't—I'm sorry…"

"It's okay," Brendon sighs.

Greta is beginning to realize just what this place does.

It erases all of your identity and sense of belonging. It pegs every original thought as negative and convinces you that your innermost thoughts are wrong. Are sin.

Fuck, she's doomed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i fucking love the killers
> 
> \+ a fuck ton of frerard next chapter
> 
> also - i need to hire a smut writer because i'm ace goddamnit and i can do it i just don't,, idk


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ry and bren make out in greta's room
> 
> also the short boy gives her something
> 
> and apparently bren has some dirt on mikey already

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not related but dude i'm so fuckin pumped i landed my loop (which is a figure skating jump) and !!!!!

Dinner consists of cold tomato soup and water.

It's served in the cafeteria, which reminds Greta more of a teacher's lounge than anything. She sits next to Mikey and across from Frank, the gorgeous short boy, and a kid from Corridor 3 named Josh, an enby with light pink hair.

Mikey seems to be doing all right. He's one of the youngest kids here as far as Greta knows, besides Josh and Pete.

Greta finishes her soup earlier than everyone else, which of course makes her feel gross and fat. Along with dysphoria, she's also always felt very insecure about her weight.

She tries to focus on what the group is talking about. Their favorite classes in school, not anything that they could get in trouble for because Mrs. Janine is keeping a close eye on them.

Her gaze keeps shifting back the the boy named Frank. He's startlingly attractive. His eyes are wide and clear, and his skin is soft and she really wants to touch his hair–

"Gee!" Mikey says impatiently. "Stop staring into space and answer the question."

"Right," says Greta, embarrassed, and launches herself back into the conversation.

After dinner, everyone heads back to their corridors. They're free to walk around and interact with each other, but their doors have to be open and there's a supervisor. The supervisor for Corridor 4 is none other than Mrs. Janine, who spends most of her time reading what appear to be shitty romance novels.

Greta stands in the hall, slightly uncomfortable. Ryan is in Greta's room with Brendon, and Mikey is with Pete, who he seems to have hit it off with. But she's alone.

She takes a peek inside her and Brendon's room—and blanches.

Ryan is in with Brendon—and they're _kissing_.

Ryan is sitting in the office chair, and Brendon has leaned down so that their lips meet. It's short and sweet, and when Brendon pulls away, Ryan looks down at his hands, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"Voyeurism? Kinky," says a sudden voice behind Greta, making her jump. It's Frank, standing behind her, smirking.

Greta laughs uncertainly. "Uh, no, I just…"

Frank rolls his eyes. "It's fine. Anyways, welcome to Corridor 4. Ryan and Brendon have been doing this for months. I'm surprised that they haven't been found out. It's hard to keep secrets in such a small place. And if they are discovered…" Frank shudders.

Greta is intimidated. She doesn't want to know what they would do to people who did that. Even though they'd be a "straight couple," it'd definitely be against protocol.

"So," says Frank, leaning against the wall like the BAMF wannabe he is. Greta leans down a bit so that she can be st eye level. "What's your deal?"

Greta blinks slowly. "Uh…I'm here because I'm a trans girl, Mikey's my brother, I'm waiting to turn 18 so I can get the fuck outta here."

Frank's expression softens. "If only it were that easy."

"What do you mean?" Greta breathes. Her face is level to his now.

"First you have to survive this place. A third of us off ourselves. That's what happened to Ryan's old roomie.

"Then you have to have someone to pick you up. We're in the middle of god damn nowhere."

Frank leans forward and locks eyes with Greta, as if to challenge her. She manages to hold his icy gaze for a moment, but then looks away. She straightens up and takes a step back.

"I might have something of assistance," she says. She has Frank's curiosity now.

"What?" he says, clearly trying not to be too eager.

Greta smirks. "I don't know if I can trust you."

Frank pouts. He raises up to his tiptoes to look Greta in the eyes again.

"And how do I gain your trust?" he asks smoothly.

Greta leans forward and bumps her nose with his. She laughs as he stumbles backward, startled.

"We'll see," she says cheerfully. She turns on her heel and exits the hallway, going back into her dorm. She suddenly locks eyes with Ryan.

Brendon is kissing along his neck and jawline, his back to Greta. Ryan looks panicked. Greta's eyes widen and she leaves instantly. The look on her face must be hilarious, because Frank collapses in a fit of giggles the moment she exits. She crosses her arms and shoots daggers at Frank.

"It's not my fault I saw," Greta says.

"Saw what?" says a voice.

It is none other than Mrs. Janine, rising from her chair, putting her book back.

"Uh–" Greta stammers, sobering immediately. "They were just…tickling each other. And it's rare to see Ryan laugh, y'know. Like…it's an honor."

Frank snorts quietly.

"Hm," says Mrs. Janine, pursing her lips. She walks past them, down the hall, and into Brendon's room. Greta can't help but peek in as well.

Brendon is lying on the floor, panting and giggling, his hair a mess. Ryan is sitting in the desk chair, spinning around aimlessly. When they see Mrs. Janine, they stand up immediately.

Mrs. Janine surveys the scene for a moment, then snorts and leaves.

"That was a close call," Frank mutters behind Greta. He walks past her into the room.

"What the hell, Brendon," he says accusingly. "You're so careless! And you—" he points to Ryan— "are too damn horny to give a fuck about what could be in for all of us if they find you out!"

Ryan smiles humorlessly. "Can't get any worse." He walks out.

Greta stared after him. "The fuck was that supposed to mean?"

Brendon sighs. "Fine, okay, Greta. We'll be less obvious. Not like your brother'll…"

Greta glowers at him. "What are you talking about my brother."

"It doesn't matter," Brendon says, scowling. "Frank, you should get back to bed. It's curfew."

Frank nods. He then reaches up to kiss Greta on the cheek. While he does so, he slips something into her pocket.

Slightly confused, Greta stares after him.

What an enigma.

•••

She waits until Brendon's asleep to see what it is.

It's plastic, no—wrapped in plastic. Greta peers at the wrapper. Is that—?

She tears open the wrapper. Sure enough, it's a square of goddamn chocolate.

It's one of those Ghirardelli ones with a raspberry filling. Greta takes a bite before she realizes that it might be poisoned or some shit.

 _What the fuck_ , she thinks, and eats the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every time you comment, i land another jump
> 
> also; next chapter is when this conversion therapy shit gets real.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon Ramsey, trees, and false accusations: individual therapy.
> 
> **TW // rape mentions**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've planned the story out, and i think there'll be 15 chapters. ~~expect a frerard kiss by chapter 7~~ no spoilers tho.

Greta stands at the door of room 52 with a feeling of nervous anticipation gnawing at her gut.

She's taps lightly at the door and it's opened by a rumpled man that looks to be in his forties. He has thin wire glasses and a scruffy sandy beard. His hair makes Greta think of Gordon Ramsey, but she abandons that thought because Gordon Ramsey isn't exactly a very encouraging person and that's not what Greta needs right now.

She walks into the office, which is painted pale yellow. The walls are covered in randomly placed shelves of a wild variety. They're covered in trinkets, crosses, and books. There's a crooked desk in the middle covered in papers. There's also a waiting room chair.

Greta cautiously sits in the chair. The man who's supposed to be her therapist sits in the desk chair and leans forward to address her.

"I," he states cinematically, "am Kelly James Greene. You can call me Kelly."

He smiles briefly and looks at Greta, expectant.

"Okay," she says.

"Introduce yourself. As if you would to one of your friends." Kelly says, intently staring at Greta. It's quite disconcerting.

Greta blinks. So…as Greta? Where is this going?

"I'm Greta, I'm seventeen, and I'm from New Jersey," she says tentatively.

Before Greta can react, Kelly reaches across the table and slaps her across the face. Greta reels. Her cheek is stinging sharply.

"What the—"

"You must stop thinking of yourself as Greta," Kelly says sternly. "You must erase yourself to fix yourself. Understand?"

Greta stares at him wide-eyed, hand still on her cheek.

"When you say something along those lines—refer to yourself as female—that is considered an offense. Too many offenses and we send you to the White Room. This is how it works here."

Greta is speechless.

Not only does this place try to maliciously tear away your identity, it goes to great extents to do so. So far that they're willing to physically hurt you. To imprison you. To drive you to suicide.

Greta sinks in her chair, overwhelmed. She feels her eyes brimming with tears.

Kelly, of course, is oblivious. He smiles and sits back. "We'll be starting our course by reviewing the tree method." He slides a sheet of paper across the desk.

It's a crude drawing of a tree, with a cloud shape representing the leaves and squiggly lines for roots. Inside the leaf area, "GID & SAD" is written in red marker.

"GID stands for Gender Identity Disorder, and SAD stands for Sexual Abnormality Disorder," Kelly explains, gesturing at the drawing. Greta stares at it vacantly. She's pretty sure that those aren't legit things. (SAD stands for social anxiety disorder, she's pretty sure, and she knows that because that's what Mikey has.)

"These are your problems," Kelly says. "These things are what's stopping you from being a functional member of society. These—" he points to the roots— "are the causes of your problems. We need to dig the roots up to destroy the problems. The trunk here is the path you took."

Greta nods absentmindedly.

"Today we'll start brainstorming some roots," Kelly says. "We'll be thinking of things that could cause sexual deviance or bodily insecurity."

Sinking into her chair, Greta tries not to think about what Kelly would consider the causes of her "problems," knowing that it's probably something along the lines of substance abuse or church evasion.

"The first thing I would like to talk about is your sister Matilda. I saw her earlier today. We discussed her relationship with you and the probability that you may have…affected her GID."

"What do you mean?" Greta asks, confused.

"I mean that I hypothesize that you may have… _disturbed_ her. That you probably took out your sexual frustrations on her, and done so by…violating her. Of course, this is common for boys because of their overt sex drives. This, in turn, may have caused her GID."

" _What_?!" Greta cries. "The fuck is this Freud shit? You think I _raped_ my own _sibling_?!"

Kelly smiles grimly. "Calm down, Greta, or it's the White Room for you."

Greta is fuming. How dare these bastards accuse her of assaulting her brother? Do they have no idea how dependent they are on each other?

It's like they're looking for reasons.

It probably is the case, Greta realizes. They're trying to find a scapegoat, an excuse. They've lived their entire lives believing that LGBT is wrong, without knowing why.

It's almost sad.

Greta sits back in submission. Kelly nods in approval. Greta hates the idea of making him happy, but how else will she survive?

Survive.

She's saying it like it's a matter of life or death.

Which it is.

Greta remembers reading somewhere that it's 8.9 times more likely for people in conversion therapy to attempt or commit suicide. She and Mikey both have a history of depression and anxiety, and even drug problems. She wonders if that could be a cause—

No. She won't start thinking like them. There's no cause for her gender.

Kelly is talking again, but his words are going in one ear and out the other. Greta is sitting alone, empty, nowhere.

It feels like hours before Kelly takes her arm and pulls her to the door. She's in a trance.

She's taken back to her room, where she lies vacantly on her bed and stares at the ceiling until she falls asleep.

It doesn't occur to her that she had a dissociation episode until Brendon shakes her awake later for dinner.

He's looking at her oddly. "What were you doing sleeping in the middle of the day."

Greta shrugs half heartedly. "Just tired, I guess. Had my first one-on-one today."

"Ah," Brendon says, nodding. "It can be hard on you. Well, it's dinner time."

"Oh good," Greta says. She wants to make sure that Mikey is okay…especially after what Kelly said.

The pair head down to the cafeteria and are joined by some Corridor 1…students? clients? What are they?

Inmates, Greta decides. She laughs humorlessly to herself.

Greta joins Mikey, Pete, and Frank again. Frank beams at her and she gives him a little wave. She sits next to Mikey.

"You okay?" she asks.

"Not really," he says hollowly. "They said…they said you…"

"I know," Greta says sadly. She rubs Mikey's back. She hates that they've made such an imprint on him. He's only fourteen.

"What did they say?" Pete asks curiously. He leans towards Mikey slightly.

"That I raped Mikey," Greta sighs.

Pete blinks. "Oh. So…did you?"

"No, what the fuck!" Greta snaps. Pete nods in acknowledgement. He takes Mikey's hand. Greta narrows her eyes at the gesture.

"I'm sorry about that, Mikes," he says intently.

Greta is confused. How is this kid that Mikey has known for two days already so close to him?

She shakes her head, clearing the thought, and gets up to grab some food. Brendon stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Have you seen Ryan?" he asks, wide-eyed.

Greta frowns. "No. Ask Mikey, he's his roommate."

Brendon turns to face Mikey. "Have you?"

Mikey's brow furrows. "Uh, no, actually."

Brendon looks panicked. "Where the fuck is he?"

And in that moment, Greta knows that something is horribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The statistic mentioned—that the suicide attempt rate is 8.9 times bigger—is true and can be sourced [here](http://www.hrc.org/resources/the-lies-and-dangers-of-reparative-therapy) and [here](http://www.apa.org/pi/lgbt/resources/therapeutic-response.pdf#__utma=149406063.799029835.1432689058.1432689058.1432689058.1&__utmb=149406063.2.10.1432689058&__utmc=149406063&__utmx=-&__utmz=149406063.1432689058.1.1.utmcsr=google%7Cutmccn=%28org).
> 
> I feel like it's also worth mentioning that though this story takes place around 2016 in New Jersey, conversion therapy performed by professionals is [illegal](http://transadvocate.com/new-jersey-bans-trans-conversion-therapy_n_10039.htm) there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what the fuck happened to ryan?
> 
> read to find out.
> 
> < /clickbait >

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the yuri on ice finale made me cry

For the second time today, Greta's mind is slipping along the line of consciousness and unreality.

Because somewhere between the time Brendon asked Greta where Ryan was and now, the form of a pale, skinny boy was found in the staff bathroom, barely breathing and full of pills.

And the echo of Brendon's scream is still playing over and over again in Greta's mind as she shudders, curled in a ball with her back to the wall, and it's all reminding her of three years ago.

Only three years ago, it was her who was Ryan and Lindsey that was Brendon. She was fourteen and at her lowest point, drinking in the basement and sleeping through class, and she felt so empty, all the time, like her mind was a dark cloud and the depression was taking over her entire being.

She pities herself because she's going to have to deal with Brendon all night, then she hates herself for thinking that, and it's all a mess honestly. But at some point, Frank sits next to her and rubs her back and whispers reassurance and kisses her tear-stained face, but she isn't quite sure if he actually does or if it's just a dream.

Greta left her dissociation episodes behind a long time ago, buried away with her self-harming habits and suicidal thoughts. But there are triggers everywhere. The emotional stress, the burden of having to care for her brother, the negative apprehension of what the next months would bring, piled on top of Ryan's suicide attempt, were just too much.

Frank takes her hands and half-walks, half-carries her to her bed. He lies next to her and strokes her hair and whispers "it's okay" over and over again and kisses the tears off her face.

And then he takes another fucking chocolate square out of his pocket, and unwraps it, and Greta eats it through her tears, and this is all really quite funny, isn't it? and she starts laughing, goddamnit.

It's several minutes later when Mrs. Janine makes Frank come out and brings a shouting Brendon in. Greta doesn't know why he's so angry, because Ryan's alive isn't he? They took him to the hospital, so he must be.

And if Ryan's alive, then why is Greta crying?

She swears out loud, which warrants an angry look from Mrs. Janine, and falls asleep to the sound of Brendon's yells.

•••

The days after Ryan's hospitalization and Greta's episodes pass in a haze. Brendon is no longer bouncy and excited, just constantly worried about when Ryan is coming back. Greta's mood is dulled by spending so much time with him in their room. At one point he gets upset and tries to kiss Greta, but she knows that it's just from the lingering shock.

Greta is in and out of one-on-one, where she starts "confessing" to Kelly just to get him to shut up. To things she did do (drink) and didn't do (rape), to everything and nothing. He beats her down, exhausting her with his interrogations.

On Sundays she goes to church and prays for the entire afternoon. Frank sits next to her in the pew and they have whisper-conversations, mostly on music, on Metallica and the Misfits, and how much new music they would miss while being here.

Greta still hasn't told anyone that she and Mikey have phones. She knows that if anyone rats them out, they're dead. She hasn't used hers at all, since it doesn't have a charger and she's very cautious, and she knows that Mikey would wait for her approval before using his.

She's incredibly glad that Lindsey told them how they could hide their phones. It's a smart and useful technique. However, she knows that anyone who puts her backpack on could feel it, so she keeps it in her closet at all times.

Pete and Mikey are growing closer. They sit together in church and sometimes cuddle during lunch. Greta doesn't know what any of it means, but she takes up her role as protective older sister and keeps a close eye on Pete to make sure that Mikey's okay.

It's a few weeks of miserable silence and listening to Brendon crying in bed before Ryan arrives, but he comes back with dead eyes and an impassive expressions that rivals Mikey. He walks in during the middle of lunch, flanked by a couple of staff members, and when Brendon sees the boy he cries out and jumps into Ryan's arms.

Ryan smiles painfully at the group and sits down delicately next to Greta. He doesn't eat.

Greta notices that the staff give him a wide berth and pretty much let him do what he wants. He sleeps in Brendon's bunk on some nights, wanders the halls whenever he feels like it, and skips group therapy.

Group therapy has also become a regular occurrence in Greta's life. The inmates are supposed to find comfort and acceptance in telling the group their problems. They also have to accept criticism from other inmates.

This is especially bad for Greta's self esteem, and it makes the girl next to her, Ashley, very angry. She always yells and argues across the table, but Josh can usually calm her down.

Josh is the sweet, quiet enby that usually sits in Ryan's seat. He's probably only thirteen or fourteen. He's quiet, but he's talked to Greta a couple of times.

And then there's Frank.

Frank, the short, smirking kid.

The one who has fantastic music taste and manages to smuggle chocolate into Greta's room _every fucking night_.

Sometimes he slips it into her pocket, or slides it under her door. Greta doesn't know how he does it, or where he gets it, but he delivers it to her with a sly smile and an occasional kiss on the cheek that leaves Greta reeling.

They're an interesting pair, the deviant and the chocolate smuggler.

Greta is pretty sure she's getting a bit of a crush on the guy, to be honest. Which is interesting because she's never had a crush on a guy before. She's pansexual, but she's liked girls, mostly. The most prominent crush she's had was on Lindsey, her best friend, but that had faded by the time she was around sixteen.

Frank doesn't talk much about his home life, but he's very open about his sexual and romantic history, which is interesting.

"I got put in here for kissing a guy behind the bleachers," he explains. "I'm bi. My parents don't want to have to deal with me. They're having a hard enough time with the whole punk thing."

Greta smirks. "Same. My parents are goody two shoes and don't want their reputations ruined."

"You guys talkin' about shitty parents?" Brendon asks, sitting down in the office chair. "Mine are Mormon freakos. They went batshit the moment they heard a rumor that I kissed some dude. They didn't know half of what I did."

"Parents suck," Frank agrees. "I mean, they're the reason that we're here."

"Yeah. Talk about Ryan," Brendon continues. "His dad's an alcoholic. Half the reason he sent him here was so that he wouldn't have to pay for his food."

"Oh," Greta says quietly.

"I've got a year and a half until I'm out of here," Brendon says. "How 'bout you?"

"Year," says Frank, shrugging. "My birthday was October 31."

"What day is it?" Greta asks. She feels bad for not knowing. Isolated.

"Around the end of November, I think," Brendon says.

Greta gapes at him. "Shit."

Brendon shrugs. "Time flies when you're having fun."

"Fun?"

Brendon winks. "Fun."

"Don't act like you're the only one getting laid." Frank rolls his eyes. "We're all a bunch of hormonal gay teens. They can try to stop us, but it's inevitable."

"You get action in conversion therapy?" Greta snorts.

"We're gay, we know how to fuck in secret." Frank smirks and winks. Greta's face goes red. Brendon laughs at her face going red. Her face gets even redder. She slaps Brendon on the arm.

"When did you lose your virginity?" Brendon asks.

Greta thinks. She has a vague memory of a drunk fuck with Lindsey when she was fourteen, which they had never talked about again. She's done more since then, of course, but that was her first time.

Frank's answer is the same, but Brendon's is thirteen.

"I miss booze," Frank says, sighing. He looks to the ceiling as if a six-pack is about to fall in his lap.

"I miss jackets," Greta adds. "I'm like…a jacket slut."

Brendon tries to keep a straight face, but his smile is twitching. He busts up laughing and is joined by Frank and Greta.

Once the joke has worn off, they lie in silence for a few minutes, pondering.

"You know, if it weren't for the whole conversion church thing, I'd actually be really happy here," Greta says thoughtfully.

And it's true. She's surrounded by people that she can relate to. They're al outsiders. They'd never make fun of her or put her down.

There's just the whole therapy thing in the way.

"Someday, I'm gonna bust outta here," Brendon says dreamily, "and take Ryan and y'all with me."

"I'll leave first," Greta says. "My birthday's in April, remember?" She sighs. "I want to get out of here. But not just that. I want to fucking end this. Destroy them. I'll study law or something. I'll find something to sue them for. Abuse. I don't know."

"Ambitious," Brendon says.

Greta shrugs. "I need to. It's for our safety. And for the people who'll come after us.

"Someday," she continues, "I will end it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope that end wasn't too abrupt
> 
> also how the fuck is it 3 days until christmas does Time even exist in this void


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for not updating for 2 days. i'll do a double update today (because i'm trash and i write fanfiction on christmas)
> 
> (honestly i don't like christmas because my family are Religious Nazi Fucks)
> 
> (im p sure my second cousin is actually a french neo-fascist)
> 
> anyways i don't really know what this chapter is haha because i wrote it semi-drunk at midnight but there are some metaphors im proud of and some Good Frerard

"Today, we're going to do what I like to call bodily positivity therapy," Kelly says. He's up and pacing today, stopping every few feet to adjust some trinket or another on his shelf. Greta, as always, is staring into space.

She has a lot of time to think now. It's strange. She's gone back to the worlds of her childhood, the battles between good and evil that inspired her and Mikey so much when they were younger.

Kelly is glaring at her. He knows what's she's doing, but not quite to the extent that he knows about her imaginary worlds.

"As I was saying," he says, slow and deliberate. He stares right into Greta's eyes to her her attention. "Bodily positivity therapy is focused on being more comfortable with the physical body. We've discussed that your GID is caused by bodily insecurity. So we'll counteract that insecurity. We're going to have you stand nude in front of this mirror." He gestures to a tall mirror on the wall. "The idea is that you will learn to accept your body and be thankful that God gave you one."

Greta frowns at him. This isn't the worst she's heard out of his mouth, but…

"You're just expecting me to stand naked and stare at myself?"

"Gerard, acceptance of what God has given you is an integral part of the process towards recovery."

"But that's an invasion of privacy."

Kelly shrugs. "It's part of the process."

Greta frowns. "Could you leave the room, 'cause standing there is kinda perverted."

Kelly's face hardens. "It's this or White Room."

Greta considers her options. It's either sitting in a room, alone or with another inmate, or strip naked and stand in front of a mirror while a therapist does God-knows-what.

"White room," Greta says. Instantly, Kelly roughly grabs her arm and practically drags her out the door. She struggles a bit to stand and follows as he walks briskly down the hall.

He's angry today.

He walks down a branch of hallway with a door at the end. He releases Greta only to dig into the pocket of his khaki pants. He pulls out a key, which he unlocks the door with.

Greta isn't surprised by the fact that the room is painted white everywhere, with no windows and a white carpet. She is surprised to see two other kids inside.

One is Ashley, who's pacing and muttering, her skirt swishing. The other is Frank, who's lying on the floor vacantly.

"Ashley, you should be out of here by now," Kelly says.

"Thank god." Ashley sighs audibly.

"What about me?" Frank says hopefully.

"Two hours," Kelly says, after glancing at a sheet on the wall with names and times scrawled on it.

Frank groans.

Kelly pushes Greta in impatiently. "Until you're ready to continue," he says. "Knock on the door when you are. Limit's fifty hours for a first timer."

Greta stares at him as he locks the door.

"Welcome," Frank says. Greta turns and laughs as she sees him, posing on his side. He winks. "Nice to see someone else in here. It's been a busy month here, apparently, everyone's been inspired to do their shenanigans after the whole Ryan ordeal."

"You're in here a lot?" Greta asks.

Frank rolls his eyes. "Bitch, I live here."

Greta barks out a laugh. Frank is funny _and_ cute.

"Usually there's an attendant here," Frank continues, "but Ashley punched him yesterday. She's been here for twenty hours, probably. I've been here thirty."

"Thirty?!" Greta is shocked. She's beginning to rethink this decision. They'll probably keep her here until she dies from dehydration or something. "And they don't let you go to the bathroom or eat or anything?"

"Well, if you really have to pee, then you tell the attendant."

"But there is no attendant."

"Exactly. So we have two hours to do whatever unsanctioned shenanigans we want." Frank winks and Greta's face goes cherry-red.

"This is the most privacy I've had for months," Greta realizes. She lies down on the ground next to Frank, staring at the bare ceiling.

Frank hums. "Yeah. It's so weird. I have plenty of time to just, like, think. But not much to interact with anyone but Pete. And barely any action, man. What we were talking about earlier. Like, have you and Brendon gotten it on?"

Greta blanches. "What?" She turns over on her side to face Frank. "No! What the fuck?"

"Sorry," says Frank, smirking slightly. "Just wondering. Most roommates end up fucking. I mean, we're all starved gay kids. Pete and I've done it."

Greta sighs. This must be one of those weird Frank things. "No. But wait—Mikey! Fuck, is my brother fucking Ryan?!"

Frank laughs. "No, I'm sure not. Ryan has all eyes for Brendon. In fact, I'm pretty sure that they knew each other before all this."

"I wonder if they were a couple. And they both have such shitty parents. That blows…"

Frank smirks. Greta smacks him. "God, you're so dirty minded. How much do you think about sex?"

Frank grins. "Only when I'm around you."

And Greta busts up laughing, because Frank is such a shithead, honestly. She catches his eye and freezes. He raises an eyebrow.

And suddenly, it's like she's caught in this tunnel, like there's nothing in the world but Frank.

And she finds herself running towards him, alone in the dark, almost there–

Their lips crash together and Greta feels something stir in the back of her mind, a strange new emotion she has yet to find. She's on top of Frank, full-on making out with him, and he returns her kiss with alacrity.

She runs her hand along his jaw and pulls at his hair a little. He shivers underneath her. Their lips part and they stare at each other.

Greta laughs awkwardly as they break apart. "We sure are desperate," she says.

Frank nods jerkily, with a small, forced, and self-conscious smile. He stares at the floor.

Greta regrets everything.

She's confused about Frank. Her feelings are an enigma. She feels like most of her emotions surrounding him stem from the fact that she's been holed up in this place for months.

"What got you in here?" Greta asks tentatively.

"Arguing," Frank says, clenching his jaw. "Apparently I have 'violent tendencies.' You?"

Greta shrugs. "He wanted me to strip and I said no."

Frank stares at her, jaw slack. "He wanted you to _what_?"

"For trans kids, they do this weird thing where you strip and look at yourself naked and accept your body and shit. I dunno."

Frank snorts. "Bullshit."

Shrugging, Greta lays back and stares at the ceiling. "Not like we can do anything about it."

Frank doesn't respond.

Greta sighs. "Hey, do you like the Used?" she asks in an attempt to divert the subject.

Frank responds with an enthusiastic yes and begins to discuss his opinions. Greta is grateful that they could move on from the whole make out session thing.

They talk for a while, subjects ranging from smoking to politics, until they hear the unmistakable sound of the door being unlocked. They automatically freeze. It's opened by a stern-looking man who must be Frank's therapist. He stands up and gives Greta a tiny, half-hearted wave as if his dad has come to pick him up from a sleepover.

So Greta is left alone.

She sits in the silence, feeling it envelope her, tendrils that steal every sound from the room.

And she starts to sing.

She doesn't know exactly what song: the lyrics and notes all bleed together, and all she focuses on is the sound of her voice. It dips and glides and soars like a bird.

She sings until her throat is raw and her eyelids start to droop. She desperately wants a glass of water to treat her poor throat. Her stomach hurts from using her diaphragm.

She lays on side and lets the world of dreams claim her.

•••

She wakes again, delirious, when the door is unlocked and Ryan's small form walks into the room. She yawns and sits up. Ryan is lying down, empty-looking and emotionless as usual.

Greta desperately wants someone to fill him up. Not in a sexual way—jesus christ, no—just someone to give him his color back again. It's like it was seeped from his veins.

Ryan doesn't notice her staring at him. He's looking vacantly at the ceiling. His curly hair has grown out to his shoulders. Unfortunately, it makes him look a lot more feminine.

Greta wonders what would happen if she went over and kissed him like she did to Frank. Hypothetically, of course. To wake the sleeping beauty.

Fuck, Greta needs food.

Her body is cramping from her nap, and her throat is raw from all of her singing. Her stomach feels like the fucking void.

Greta isn't sure if being with Ryan is better or worse than being alone. He's kind of eerie in this state of half-consciousness.

•••

Greta sleeps for a while again, then wakes up and walks around a bit. Ryan mostly stays lying down in the middle of the room. Greta feels like an empty machine, a robot, like in that Green Day song.

She starts to sing. Softly, gently.

She feels tears trickle down her face. She's forgotten Ryan is there. He's staring at her with a wistful expression, the corners of his mouth peeking up a bit. His eyes look wet, too.

Greta thinks about everything but where she is now. She takes trips to fantasy worlds, invents alternate realities, lets her imagination run free.

But she falls down from cloud nine with a crash when Kelly unlocks the door. He makes a quick hand gesture and Greta sits up, joints creaking and groaning. Ryan watches her carefully as she exits the room.

It's almost strange seeing something other than white.

Greta sways a bit, knocking into the wall.

"You're not ready yet," Kelly mutters. It's the first voice that she's heard in hours. "You know how long you were in there?"

Greta shakes her head.

"Fifty. Ryan was in there for the last twenty."

Greta's jaw hits the floor, her eyes nearly popping out of her head like a twisted cartoon character. Kelly glares at her.

"It's past curfew. We'll put you in bed and get back in your regular schedule tomorrow."

Greta nods, too delirious to be defiant.

Kelly leads her as she stumbles back to her dorm. He unlocks the door with the same key that he used for the white room. Greta notes this.

Brendon is awake, sitting up and reading another book. He starts as the pair enters the room.

Greta sways as she climbs into bed. Kelly is watching her. She burrows under the covers and wills herself to the realm of dreams.

Honestly, she doesn't know what the fuck just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not good at writing romance / smut mostly bc im gray-aroace (& gay)
> 
> so gray-gay i guess?? maybe just… "g(r)ay"


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> greta is a mess
> 
> **TW: internalised transphobia, a situation that could be viewed as emotional/sexual abuse**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for never updating. this chapter was really hard to write. and meanwhile, i've been. suffering through my own transgender dysphoria blues. it's all good tho ily
> 
> also, i would like to thank the people that leave multiple comments on this work because they make me feel inspired af and i want to give a bear hug to each and every one of them

Getting asked if she shit her pants is not Greta's ideal way to start the day.

Brendon, the source of the inquiry, is staring at her ass with a confused expression. Greta bends backwards and turns her hips to find the source of this mysterious brown stain. It's her right back pocket.

She reaches in and fishes out a chocolate wrapper, sticky with the melted remains of the square.

She lets out a groan. Brendon tilts his head to the side, perplexed. "Is that chocolate?" he asks.

"Yeah," Greta sighs.

"Where did you get that?" Brendon says, in awe. "I haven't had real food in so long."

Greta pauses, wondering if she should tell him. She doesn't know how Frank gets his chocolate, but it's probably somewhere illegal or something. She decides to just tell him.

He replies with a confused expression. "Where does–"

"No idea. I wish it were coffee." Greta sighs. "I fucking miss coffee. And movies. I'd give anything to just watch old movies for a day. And listen to the fuckin' Misfits."

Brendon smiles. "Dude, I miss heels. I fucking love heels."

Greta nods absentmindedly.

Brendon glances at the clock on the desk. "Hey, aren't you going at nine?" he asks. It's 9:06.

"Fuck," Greta mutters. She quickly changes her pants. She'll have to get the chocolate out of her jeans before she puts it in the laundry, so nobody will notice.

She walks to the office with a dread blossoming in her stomach.

She had slept deeply until 8:30, when Brendon had woken her up for breakfast. She spent the entire meal thinking about what would happen in the office.

Convincing herself that nothing bad could happen took a lot of work.

She walks slowly down the hall, staring at her feet, with deliberate steps. Arriving at the door with a foreboding sense of unease, she opens it slowly.

Kelly is sitting at the desk, staring intently at her. "You're late."

Greta hangs her head. "Sorry."

"Mm," Kelly says. He stands and maneuvers around the desk. "So you know what you're doing today."

"Yes," Greta says in a small voice. She stares determinedly at her shoes.

Kelly sighs. "Go ahead." When Greta doesn't do anything, he flicks the back of her neck. She flinches.

Her shoes are the first to go. The carpet is scratchy and cold. Then, her shirt. Kelly is breathing down her neck as she slowly steps out of her pants.

She pauses. She's standing in her underwear in front of a mirror, hunched over and shivering.

"Do it!" Kelly growls.

As she slips off her underwear, she's overcome with a sense of vulnerability and humiliation. She closes her eyes and looks away.

She's suffered from feelings of dysphoria since she was young.

She found herself stealing one of Lindsey's bras and stuffing it, proudly puffing out her chest as she looked at her profile in the mirror. She found herself on the Internet, reading posts on how to properly tuck. She used to cry in the shower because her dick made it impossible to let her feel like a real woman.

What Kelly calls this standing in front of a mirror and getting taunted—facing her fears—is nothing close to what Greta feels.

The cliché that Greta was born in the wrong body has always sounded stupid to her. She wasn't born in the wrong body. To say that this body is not her own is wrong. This is her body, with all of its nice parts and ugly parts and parts that she doesn't want.

But that's not specific to trans people. Virtually all people have nice parts and ugly parts and parts they don't want. Greta knows people who have cried because they felt insecure about cellulite, or because they were getting taunted about having a thigh gap, or because they felt that their skin condition rendered them unable to ever be attractive. Insecurity is not exclusive to one population.

As Greta stares into the mirror, hunched and shivering and vulnerable and humiliated, she's reminded of all of her insecurities. All of her emotional scars and suicidal thoughts and drugs to escape. The way she feels about her body is one of the reasons for all of those.

Greta knows that she has to be fixed.

 _Wait, no_ , she thinks frantically, but the thought has already crossed her mind and she knows, without a doubt, that this place has taken a toll on her.

When she thinks about the fluffy dresses and sleek skirts she left at home, Kelly's voice echoes in her head. " _Femininity is weak_ ," he says in her mind, and Greta could lecture him on why he's wrong—she knows a lot about this while feminism thing—but she's vulnerable, and she's heard this enough that she's starting to think he might be right.

Greta can't help but think that this would all be easier if she was cis.

But she's too far by now. If only she had been intercepted earlier. She could have covered it all up. Suppressed it before her parents found out and sent her here.

Here.

Greta is so wrapped up in memories and regrets that she barely notices when Kelly ghosts his fingers over skin. Her recoil is nothing but instinct.

“'Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you,'” Kelly recites. "Ask God for forgiveness. Ask him to right your body, and he will do it."

Greta shivers. She sinks at the floor. She's staring at the mirror, but her vision blurs and she can't see anything but silver.

All Greta wants is out.

She feels like there's a certain darkness that's intruding her mind. It's familiar, and deriding.

It's the same black cloud that she felt in her early teenage years. It seeps the light and hope in Greta's mind away.

Greta's head feels like Pandora's box, crawling with dark thoughts. _It would be easier if you weren't like this. You turned Mikey into one of you. Why does you have to be so emo and complicated. Stop trying to be a special snowflake._

Greta curls up into a ball, trying to stop thinking, to stop being. She ignores Kelly's Bible verse ranting and just sits.

She lets her mind become empty.

Time whirls around her. She can't decide if it's hours or seconds later when Kelly deems her finished and dresses her again. She finds herself slipping on the line of reality, the one that separates dreams and real life. There's light and color and faces.

They clarify once she's back in her bed. She sees Mikey hovering over her, looking scared.

"How'd you get in here?" she slurs.

"What the fuck happened to you?!" Mikey cries. He strokes her face gently. His hair is growing long, like Ryan's. They won't let him cut it. Frank's is getting long too.

"It's coming back, Mikes," Greta says.

"What—Oh, Gee." Mikey brushed his fingers along her jaw. "Fuck, we need the goddamn meds…I can't let you have episodes like this…we're close, Gee…it's been a session since we came, do you realize that? We'll be getting new roommates. Three months, Gee." Mikey's eyes are wet.

"I'm sorry," Greta sighs. "I just feel so uncontrolled. All these panic attacks, all the time."

"I know," says Mikey.

Greta sits up. She feels a wave of dizziness pass over her head. "Can you get Frank?" she asks.

"Possibly," Mikey says. "But I'll have to leave. Someone might think it suspicious that all three of us are gathered, I guess."

Greta nods. Recognizing the acknowledgement, Mikey leaves the room.

A few minutes later, Frank enters. He walks until he reaches the foot of Greta's bed, then cocks his head and holds out a hand.

Greta doesn't even have to look to know what it is. She takes it and begins to unwrap it. A smooth, silent exchange. No questions asked.

"Another panic attack," says Frank.

Greta looks down. "Sorry."

"Why are you apologising?" Frank asks. "It's their fucking fault for not letting you have medication or whatever. You're stressed and depressed and shit. Don't apologize to me."

Greta looks up, the ghost of a smile lingering at the corner of her lips. "Tell me why I should keep going."

"Coffee. The next Star Wars movies. 'My Neighbor Totoro.'. The Misfits. Me." Frank strikes a pose and winks. Greta bursts into a laugh.

"Three months," Greta says. "Until I'm eighteen. I'll take you with me."

Frank responds with a squeak of apprehension and a peck on the lips. "Where?"

"To the end of the world."

"Hmm." Frank acts like he's sizing up his options. "The end of the world or this church? That's a hard one."

Greta laughs again. It's strange, this cycle of sadness and smiles. "In three months, we'll go. I have something that might help us. I'll take you and Mikey and as many people as I fucking can, okay? And we'll drink coffee with vodka and watch Star Wars and live."

Frank reaches over and hugs Greta, an unexpected but not unappreciated gesture.

He leaves with a quick wave, but not before he whispers a quick "love you" in Greta's ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probably a double update today. we shall depart from the repetitive storylines and get some fucking characters. and some fucking romance. and some fucking. so look forward to that. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the inmates play never have i ever because why the fuck not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WAS GOING TO ADD THIS LAST NIGHT BUT I FELL ASLEEP what the fuck
> 
> someone please tell me if i already added this chapter or if it was a dream
> 
> well i guess that means there'll be a double update today except maybe not because next chapter will be super hard to write.
> 
> i can't think of any TWs off the top of my head so if you see anything that could be a trigger comment & i'll add a warning

Greta is set to move out right after lunch. She's already put her few possessions in her backpack and made her bed.

The new session will be starting, and new kids will join, and a lucky few will leave.

Brendon has been pacing all morning. He's practically praying to be roomed with Ryan. Greta assures him that the staff have seen how Brendon makes Ryan more happy and cooperative and will surely put them together.

There's a meeting of sorts where the new rooms (and even corridors) will be distributed. It's in the group therapy room. A Corridor 2 therapist with a maxi skirt and salt-and-pepper hair is holding a list, which she reads down, telling everyone where they'll be.

"We will be eradicating the same-sex roommate law due to some…complications," she says stiffly. Greta sees a Corridor 1 girl smirk and some other inmates suppress their laughter. She can assume what happened.

The woman goes down the list for corridors one and two, giving out pairs of names. Greta starts paying attention at corridor 3, because she heard staff saying that Ryan is moving there and she wants to know if Brendon will get his wish.

"Corridor 3. Room 7: Gerard Way and Frank Iero."

Greta blinks. What? She's in Corridor 3?

"Room 8: Ashely Frangipane and Joshua Dun. Room 9: Georgia Ross and Brendon Urie."

Greta feels a twinge of frustration. Mikey isn't in her corridor. This'll make everything harder. But she's happy about Brendon being roomed with Ryan. She sees the look of elation on his face from across the room.

"Room 10: Matilda Way and Pete Wentz."

So Mikey is getting Greta's old room. With that kid he's always hugging and shit.

"Room 11: Melanie Martinez and Hayden Williams. Room 12: Brandon Flowers and Gabriela Saporta."

The assignments are finished. The inmates travel back to their rooms with their roommates. Greta catches Mikey eye and shrugs in disappointment. Mikey gives her a reassuring smile as he walks away with that Pete kid, who has a hand on his shoulder.

Hmmph.

Frank bounds over to Greta with a grin. "We're roomies!" he cheers. Greta smiles, finally given a reason to.

Maybe this means she can find out more information about the whole chocolate thing.

Room 7 is exactly the same as Room 10. Frank tosses his duffel bag into the closet and climbs to the top bunk, which he claims "because I'm smaller." Greta rolls her eyes, but accepts her bottom bunk fate, hoping that Frank isn't a mobile sleeper.

Since it's the first night of the session, the inmates are free to go anywhere. They use it as sort of a party night. Brendon gathers everyone in the corridor in his room for a game of Never Have I Ever.

It's much safer than Truth or Dare, he explains, because it focuses on the players' pasts rather than the secrets that they hold right now.

Of course, they don't have shots, so they decide to just raise a hand to indicate when a person is guilty as charged.

Josh, the quiet enby, kicks the game off. "Never have I ever gone to Pride," they say.

Ashley is the only one who raises her hand. "I snuck there," she says proudly.

Ryan is beside Josh, meaning that he'll go next. The two seem to have become friends. Greta wonders when that happened.

"Never have I ever walked in on someone kissing," Ryan says.

Greta snorts as she raises her hand, along with Frank, Josh, and Brendon.

"It was you guys," she quips.

Ryan's eyes widen and Brendon's squint in confusion. The rest of the circle bursts into laughter. Brendon looks around, perplexed.

"Wait, what?" he asks Ryan.

"Greta saw us kissing," Ryan explains quietly. Brendon swears.

Greta is left with three fingers after Brendon says "never have I ever sat on chocolate so that it looks like I shit my pants," which is clearly targeting Greta. She claps back with a "never have I ever done striptease" because she remembers Frank telling some stories about Brendon's party life. Brendon glares at her with mock contempt and makes a throat-slitting motion.

The game continues with several personal jabs and snide remarks. Highlights include "punched a staff member," from Josh directed at Ashley; "tried to get high on Mrs. Janine's nail polish," from Ryan to Brendon; and "smuggled candy," from Greta to Frank. There are some with backstories that Greta is really curious about, such as the time Ryan supposedly got drunk on hand sanitizer in elementary school, or when Frank tried to deal oregano to the art teacher.

The first one out is Brendon. Greta's not surprised—the kid's a self-described slut and major partier. Sweet, innocent Josh is the last one to remain, and is knocked out—thereby officially ending the game—when Ryan alleges that they were subject to rumors that they were gay for their best friend.

The game decreases into quiet, yet jubilant conversation. However, the night takes a more serious turn when Brendon pulls Greta aside.

"Ryan's leaving," he tells her quietly.

Greta raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah. He turned eighteen in August, but he didn't have anyone to pick him up or anything. He's going to go in about two weeks. Apparently he has a friend that's moving somewhere around here in that window of time."

Greta acknowledges this with pursed lips and a sideways glance at Ryan. He seems much more mature after his…suicide attempt. Much older, but also much more…happy?

He doesn't seem like the lonely emo that he did earlier, Greta thinks. He's more purposeful.

Greta doesn't know quite how she feels.

Frank, as usual, spots Greta and bounds up to her with alacrity. She grins and boops him on the nose. Following her finger, Frank's eyes cross and Greta giggles.

Frank looks up at her shyly. He has light, clear puppy dog eyes.

Greta leans close to him, bumping foreheads. Frank reaches into his pocket and presses a chocolate square into her hand.

What is it with this kid?

Greta backs away a bit from him as she pockets the square. She'll have to remember it's there, lest she risk another pants stain.

Greta leans against the wall and watches the scene. It's amazing how such damaged kids can still find connections to each other and uplift each other even in the darkest of times.

Although Greta has a feeling that that will come to a test.

She surveys the room. Ryan, who has his arm wrapped around Brendon, is talking to Ashley. She laughs, and Josh giggles in the background. There's an air of peace and bliss in the room. It's temporary, but it's there.

But it's about to shatter.

Faces turn in surprise towards the doorway, which just crashed open, swinging violently. Greta is shocked and scared as she sees that the person on the threshold is Mikey.

Mikey.

But there's something deeply and horribly wrong. Mikey's face is tear streaked, his hair is a mess. Greta can see a broken sort of pain in his expression as he locks eyes with her from across the small room.

"Pete is dead," he says in choked sobs, and falls to his knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry
> 
> i mean...........there'll be petekey next chapter? so, uh....yeah
> 
> also it is actually possible to get drunk on hand sanitizer
> 
>  
> 
> and did you know that dallon weekes is the same height as dan and phil


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i dont fucking know just read it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from the dead! (I deleted my ~~breakup tweet~~ break chapter...I feel like MCR.)
> 
> So this chapter is definitely sub-par because i haven't written in weekes and all that jazz.
> 
> But there is Frerard. so en-fucking-joy, my fellow emos.

The air is still and silent in the church yard. Greta stares vacantly in the sky, her head in Frank's lap.

It's a week after Mikey found Pete, panicked, and ran to the first person that he could think of: Greta. She, along with everyone else in that room, was a firsthand witness to his heart breaking.

He later confessed to Greta that Pete had told him that he was seriously considering doing it. Greta can't express how terrible she feels for him. Guilt is such heavy baggage.

When Mikey told Greta and the rest of Corridor 3 what had happened, he was met with momentary shock before everything settled.

Greta, looking back on it, would have expected some kind of reaction. Yelling, disbelief, something.

But death is different here.

Suicide is a common occurrence in such a hellish place. The ones who were close to the victim are met with pitying glances and soft touches. Everyone else mourns momentarily, thinking about how much pain this place has caused them to drive them to do such a thing.

And then it's over.

And the inmate is quickly forgotten. Another victim of the people who erase your identity and ingrain it in you that you should not exist.

There was a small funeral that the distraught Mikey did not attend. There were short prayers and quiet whispers. The inmates do not let themselves feel. It only makes it harder when it inevitably happens again.

Mikey refuses to go back to his room and confront the ghosts that have haunted him since Pete's death, whispering damning things into his ear. It was your fault, you should have told someone.

But what would they have done? Thrown Pete in the white room? Confined him even more?

Greta learns of Pete and Mikey's relationship much later than she should have. Mikey reveals, in fragmented, tear-ridden conversation, that they had fallen in love, and that Pete left Mikey piles of (undoubtedly sappy) poetry.

It's not the first time Greta has confronted death. It won't be the last. Greta understands that death is inevitable at any age, and that suicide is ever harder to cope with. Mikey would never admit it, but the fact that Pete was not willing to stay alive for him hit him hard.

The mood in the facility is soured for the next few days. Greta feels bad for the new inmates, who were slapped in the face with the reality of what happens in conversion therapy.

She spends most of her time with Frank, who understands her silent sadness and her fear for Mikey. It breaks her heart every time she sees him—which isn't often since they're in different corridors now.

She can only imagine the pain he's going through. And she desperately wants to be there—to comfort him—or at least distract him—but she can only watch from a distance.

He's always either in his room or in some sort of counseling. Greta knows that she could have helped him cope much more than any of his therapists could have.

Brendon is distraught too. He told Greta that Pete was a role model of sorts for him. He didn't explain any farther, and Greta didn't want to press.

She finds herself yearning to do something crazy and reckless. Break a window. Sneak alcohol. Fucking run.

She feels so confined. She's bottled everything up.

She lets some of it loose one day by throwing a snow globe in Kelly's office. She spends her time in the white room kicking the wall while the attendant looks at her in disdain.

Coming back to the dorm limping, she's interrogated by Frank. She replies with snappish remarks and sullen glares.

It's when Frank lets out a "What the fuck is wrong with you?" when she does it.

She snaps.

But not in the way she should have.

In a sudden burst of anger and adrenaline, she slams Frank against a wall and presses her lips to his.

At first, she thinks that Frank will push her away, but to her surprise, he doesn't. He kisses her back. It's kiss is desperate, heated, and violent, which is honestly everything you'd expect from a couple of starved and unstable teenagers. There are bodies pressing and hands flying and red, hot sensation, strong and vibrant.

Frank lets out a low moan and the sound goes straight to Greta's dick.

It's then when she realizes just what she's doing.

She drops her hands, releasing Frank, and stares at the floor, panting, face burning. Frank mutters something incoherent. He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks away.

"Well fuck," he sighs, and Greta couldn't agree more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realize that was a weird ending and a messy chapter in general. Forgive me? <3


End file.
